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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820943">|of subtle imperfection|</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlekaracan/pseuds/littlekaracan'>littlekaracan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley is a Good Bro, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Severe Regret afterwards, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, cralt if u squint?, halt o'carrick needs a hug, like a lot of it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:07:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlekaracan/pseuds/littlekaracan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Halt brought Will to the ward of Redmont, and Crowley thinks his friend still hasn't lived down what he presumes to be his greatest failure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Halt O'Carrick &amp; Crowley Meratyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>|of subtle imperfection|</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>id like to thank the ra discord for beating my ass enough to get me to finish this</p><p>tw for alcohol abuse bc halt is stressed and decides to pull out some Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was passing Redmont Fief, which had been only slightly off-course.</p><p>He wasn’t there intentionally, of course. He got a little lost, he decided, and that’s how he ended up there. It wasn’t like he could’ve given names to every forest path in Araluen, no.  It wasn’t like he could’ve told the hour at a glance at the sky or the direction at a look at a nearby tree. It was truly tough luck for him to find himself in Redmont, he hummed to himself, smiling a stupid smile.</p><p>Not like he wanted to see his best friend who conveniently lived in that exact fief or anything, either.  Not that he was worried after receiving no report for the past month.</p><p>That’s why he felt so frustrated upon finding Halt’s cabin empty underneath the far-reaching branches that obscured the already cloudy sky, mocking him. Gods, he thought, it was as if he’d deliberately followed side-tracks leading to Redmont or something.</p><p>Now, he wasn’t going to just turn around and go on his merry way, no – he was tired, and so was Cropper underneath him, who wisely didn’t have that much to say on his little detour.  Therefore, all he had to do was simply find Halt, drag him back home and hopefully get to spend the night in an actual bed for once. The hard part was actually locating him, but Crowley wasn’t the Commander of the Corps for nothing.</p><p>He had always had good intuition, he’d been told. Many times, in fact, and only sometimes by his mother. Whichever way it was, he was inclined to agree. He wouldn’t have called it intuition, exactly, though – more like a good head on his shoulders and the general predictability of people once you knew them. And he knew Halt, for better and for worse. If he wasn’t scouting the forest at night which, well, why would he (besides, Rangers can feel their woods in a way – Halt would know he was there), he’d be in town.</p><p>Where in town? Well.</p><p>Safe to say, Halt wasn’t going to any brothels, and if he was out on a mission with the Baron, he would’ve notified Crowley about it. An old jab came to his mind – <em>gonna go spend the night with Lady Pauline, are you?</em></p><p>Halt had told him a few choice words of unknown origin, back then. Hibernian, most likely. He had a way with those. And they had been younger, and stupid. So very stupid.</p><p>Crowley flashed a worried grin to Cropper and directed him toward the road leading to the village nestled just below Castle Redmont.</p><p>The evening was bitterly cold, and the chilly winds picked at his cloak, bit at his bared hands. He sped up his mount once he was out of the woods, unprotected by the densely-grown trunks, and rode past the outskirts with no issue.  A Ranger was difficult to find, especially in the middle of the night in their own Fief, and <em>especially</em> if they didn’t want to be found. But a Ranger, in this case, was Halt, and the one looking for him was Crowley, so he was bound to succeed eventually.</p><p>He leaned down to Cropper. “Is Abelard here anywhere?”</p><p>
  <em>People are watching, Crowley. </em>
</p><p>Crowley shot back up straight, but, after a suspicious glance around, nudged his horse lightly. “This isn’t funny.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s hilarious. I can hear you in there, you don’t need to talk out loud.</em>
</p><p>“Maybe I prefer to talk this way,” Crowley bristled. Cropper yanked his head back lightly, as close to a human laugh as a horse could get.</p><p>
  <em>It’s like you’re still a first-year.</em>
</p><p>“So is he here anywhere or not?”</p><p>
  <em>I wouldn’t be wasting time if he wasn’t. Where do you think I’m going?</em>
</p><p><em>Where I turn you?</em> Crowley almost said, but Cropper probably would’ve bucked him off at that. He seemed to feel the intent, though, and deliberately made the ride a little bit rockier the rest of the way.</p><p>Finally, they reached a tavern. Crowley looked around, squinting. The inside seemed to be lively, considering there was always more company to be found in those types of establishments in the early hours of the night, but... You could rarely find Halt in one.</p><p>As if to confirm, Cropper reminded, <em>We’re here.</em></p><p>“You sure?” Crowley muttered, jumping down to the ground and tracing a hand up Cropper’s neck. “I don’t see Abelard.”</p><p>
  <em>He’s here somewhere, don’t worry about it.</em>
</p><p>Crowley pressed his lips together, glancing up at the tavern. His horse had never failed him, so he doubted he was about to do so now. “You gonna be alright?” he asked.</p><p>
  <em>I’d roll my eyes if I could. I am rolling my eyes right now.</em>
</p><p>“Got it, got it.” Crowley rolled his instead and headed for the entrance, sparing Cropper but a hasty look over his shoulder as goodbye as the horse trotted to the side – probably in search of Abelard.</p><p>In the meantime, his rider pushed the door open and snuck inside – and with the ruckus and noise in the tavern, few noticed a short Ranger with all his weapons concealed; even fewer recognized his craft, for his hood was down and his expression relaxed, instead of the grim and rough face of the Ranger they were used to. His friendly presence and social facade had helped Crowley through many a mission.</p><p>He looked around, diving here and winking at the occasional barmaid here or patron there, but, ultimately, what he was looking for was difficult to find.</p><p>Until he reached the darkest corner, and, of course, there he was. Rangers usually preferred the darkest corners.</p><p>With neither greeting nor hesitation, Crowley slid into the seat opposite of his chair, and unceremoniously flicked off Halt’s hood.</p><p>Halt looked up at him slowly, and Crowley tilted his head.</p><p>“You’re not dead,” he stated cheerfully, but that wasn’t far from a lie. Halt’s eyes were glassy, his hair was a mess, and he generally just looked more unpleasant than usual. The stench of alcohol pouring off him in waves didn’t help the cause.</p><p>“Barely,” Halt answered, sounding almost as if he was sleepy. But he was definitely drunk, and Crowley winced the slightest bit. What on earth was he doing here, why on earth was he doing <em>that</em>? “What on earth are you doing here?”</p><p>Well, Crowley thought, at least their train of thought was still similar.</p><p>“Better yet, answer that question yourself. Why spend your time here?” Crowley looked around, taking in the view and the types of patrons the tavern housed. Surely enough: drunkard, drunkard, drunkard, a potential corpse, drunkard, <em>definitely </em>catatonic, drunkard, and...</p><p>Well, he thought he got the impression right. “Not the most pleasant environment, no?”</p><p>Halt snorted. “Look at me. Would you say I’m the most pleasant sight?”</p><p>“Hm,” Crowley muttered. “Perhaps not, but – you’re not a drinker, not usually, are you? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Did you ride here all the damn way from Araluen just because you wanted to tell me to get my life together, Crowley?”</p><p>“No, that’s not why I did it.” Crowley tilted his head again, staring down Halt’s drink. He wasn’t sure what to say, really, or how to go about this. He’d never had to before. “Actually, I...” But, before he could speak, mouth still open, Halt beat him to it.</p><p>“Then why look for me? I don't need your pity," he sneered, eyes locked firmly on his glass.</p><p>Crowley raised an eyebrow. <em>Bold</em>, he thought. Few would pity a Ranger. And yet, it'd be somewhat difficult not to pity the man in front of him; he looked like he would've long put a knife through himself had he not found some sort of deity in the darkness of that drink.</p><p>Just as boldly, Crowley said, "I don't pity you." And yet he was unsure behind his confidence. What was he supposed to do, really? If he didn't need to pose as a drunk or if Crowley wasn't dragging him out, Halt would circle bars at a considerable distance. "And you don’t even know if I was looking for you. But let me tell you, right now, this-" Crowley leaned in, searching for words, but all were harsh. "This— ... Halt, it disgusts me. It’s always disgusted me, you know that."</p><p>Halt stared straight ahead at him, but probably didn't take the time to read Crowley's face. There was certainly leniency in it, and the words were more of confusion than accusation. But he didn't see that.</p><p>Prolonged silence, and then Halt ducked his head, trying to swallow something. It didn't work.</p><p>He started laughing.</p><p>No, it wasn't genuine laughter - Crowley had seen that very very rarely after an excruciating mission when they'd barely made it out holding onto each other, or when they sat with Pauline and Crowley kept rolling his eyes and deliberately pushing himself away and away from the two of them, or when he - quite gloriously, if he might say - managed to drag the corner of his cloak over a campfire and light himself on fire during the Gathering a year or so ago.</p><p>This wasn't it. It was equally explosive, he tried just as hard to bite it back, but it was maddening, sharp and high and uncontrollable. Crowley had never heard miserable laughter like that before, but he would've preferred hearing it from someone that wasn't his best friend.</p><p>At last, Halt's voice died down, shrieking laughter turning into wheezing turning into sharp breaths and chuckling and, finally, into silence.</p><p>"Good - it should," he said, turning his glass absent-mindedly. There was a smile on his face. It was not pleasant. "And good that you don’t lie to me. I disgust myself as well."</p><p>Crowley shook his head, then raised a hand to get Halt's attention. <em>I'm not meaning to insult you, I'm trying to talk, you idiotic undersized jackass, listen to me.</em></p><p>"Well, I don't want you to— be disgusting," he said slowly, but Halt had probably decided on a plan to not take any shit from him.</p><p>"Come back in a day or two, then."</p><p>Unfortunately for him, Crowley was just as stubborn. "Halt."</p><p>“You’re not gonna find anything you want here today.” Halt turned away from him and pressed two fingers into his temple. "This isn't gonna go away in one night, the headache at the very least. If you want clarity, strategy, you know I’d help any other night. Not... Not this one. Ugh." He raised his glass to down the rest, but Crowley grabbed his wrist and slammed it to the table.</p><p>He was always impulsive. But, somehow, he felt that if he let Halt bring that cup to his lips again, Halt wouldn’t put it down.</p><p>"How about you stop while you're ahead?" Crowley suggested, and his voice sounded incredibly quiet when compared to the thump of their hands on the wood. Halt barely even reacted, watching a tiny stream trickling down his palm where the sudden yank had spilled some of his drink.</p><p>"I'm doing just fine, thank you."</p><p>He pulled his wrist out of Crowley's grasp, but left the glass on the table, and something in Crowley boiled, not from anger but from helplessness.</p><p>"Yes, just fine. Because getting black-out drunk in the middle of the night in a common pub is just fine. Purposely ruining yourself because you’re down about something is just fine. If that's just fine, then I suppose the way I found Egon was just fine as well. The earlier Corps was just fine as well."</p><p>That visibly stung Halt harder than the puddle of his drink that was seeping into the wood, darkening it. It seemed to reflect in his eyes, but he turned away.</p><p>"I'm not drinking because I like it," he said, nearly defensive, keeping his head low like a threatened animal. "I'm not drinking because I have nothing to do. Or, no, maybe, maybe I am." He raised his eyes and a drunk glare went through Crowley sharper than some sober ones. "Maybe I am drinking because I have nothing to do, and if I have nothing to do, it might just kill me faster than drinking in the first place."</p><p>Crowley took a breath, and: "Nothing you just said makes a sliver of sense."</p><p>It did. It made some sense in a twisted and distorted form of the word, some explanations and some lost thoughts that surfaced awkwardly and without any real purpose except to give him a reason to keep drinking. It wasn't the kind of sense Halt usually made. They both knew that.</p><p>Unceremoniously, Halt sighed, folded his hands on the table and collapsed on top of them, two fingers loosely pulling on a tuft of hair longer than the rest.</p><p>"No, not to you." His voice was muffled by his shirt and Crowley had to lean in to understand him. "You're an idiot, Crowley, anyone ever tell you that?"</p><p>Crowley flinched. "<em>I'm</em> the idiot? I'm not the one who's--"</p><p>"Getting black-out drunk in the middle of the night in a common pub, heard you just fine," Halt recited. "Yeah. You're not the idiot, in that regard. Because you have shit to do, Crowley. You're just not doing it, spending valuable time with me here. For some damn reason. Maybe if you put it off for long enough, you'll never run out of that. You’ll never need to think about anything that’s unreasonable. You won't need to get black-out drunk, in the middle of--" he began his mantra again, but Crowley shoved him off the table and back onto the chair.</p><p>Halt's eyes had reddened, blinking to get used to the light, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, <em>What is it?</em> As if he'd shoved him out of a discussion about the weather.</p><p>"You say whatever you want," Crowley said, his face hollow but his voice barely quivering. "You say whatever you damn want, but I'm not here because I'm putting anything off or because I want anything from you. I'm here because, whether you want it or not, you're on the list of things I can't not care about, now. And if you fall off Abelard and snap your neck in the middle of the day because of a fucking headache, Halt, I swear I'm gonna make sure your ghost never hears the end of it. You don’t get to bring me into this as some holier-than-thou scapegoat. I’m here because you weren’t at the cabin and you don’t ever drink alone."</p><p>Halt had settled his head on his arms again, but he'd raised his gaze to Crowley instead of burying himself in his shirt. His eyes were strange. Conflicting.</p><p>"That's rather moving." Crowley squinted, but couldn't locate any hint of sarcasm. Maybe Halt was just too drunk for sarcasm. Maybe not.</p><p>"So. If you could at least tell me why I hadn't gotten your report on Monday morning, maybe I could at least understand something more than the fact that you probably aren't making it to the castle tomorrow."</p><p>"I won't need to," Halt grumbled. "Everything's settled for the month. I sent the damn thing a few days late, Crowley. A few days."</p><p>"Make that a week - I left in the evening, waited for as long as I could," Crowley said, his tone softer. Late reports happened. There wasn't much wrong with them if it wasn't a habit. But usually Halt was nothing if not dutiful, to a degree.</p><p>"Where are you going, stumbling into such a convenient place?" he asked with no real enthusiasm, and Crowley tilted his head.</p><p>"I was about to tell you when you cut me off, greeting a ship from Hibernia." Halt nodded, although he didn't seem to have heard it the first time. "I wrote to you about it, too," Crowley reminded. "I'm escorting a diplomatic party to Castle Araluen. I was surprised you didn't want to take it, but..."</p><p>A little resentful, he gestured at Halt's drink.</p><p>"Guess I can see why."</p><p>"I <em>wish</em> I was too hangover to take it." Halt's speech dripped with bitterness. "Can't seem to get drunk enough, though."</p><p>"Oh, you're more than drunk enough," Crowley spat back. "I don't think you can stand."</p><p>"I can try."</p><p>"Please refrain. We don’t need the entire tavern keeping their eyes on you for the remainder of the night." Crowley rested his chin on his hand, staring his friend down. "Do trust me, if you drink any more, you're not gonna survive the night."</p><p>"Now, wouldn't that be horrible." No, he was right, drunk Halt was just as capable of sarcasm as sober Halt.</p><p>"Quite. Wouldn't wanna call an emergency Gathering just because you were too hell-bent on putting yourself down with a bottle instead of having a normal conversation."</p><p>"Well, we are conversating, aren't we?" Halt muttered and Crowley realized he might not be that awake after all.</p><p>"That's not a word," he corrected softly, adding, "And no, we're not. I'm trying to get you to talk. You're not talking."</p><p>"About what?" Deceptively calm were his movements when he carelessly shoved his glass back and forth between his hands. <em>Put it down, god damnit.</em></p><p>"About why you're trying to drink yourself into next week, and about why I shouldn't drag you off to your own cabin to sleep so you can live through your thirties." Crowley watched with a grim expression as the glass screeched on the wooden table. Halt just sneered.</p><p>"As long as I do what I need to do, you needn't worry."</p><p>"I worry exactly because you won't do what you need to do if you keep this up." Crowley reached out, resting his hand on Halt’s glass and pushing it away a little. Halt deliberately dragged it back but refrained from moving it again, instead just staring up at Crowley.</p><p>"One day, Crowley. Let me have one bad day."</p><p>“This is not a day. I don’t know how much or how long, but not one day, Halt.” Crowley may have had unfeeling eyes when he wanted to, but Halt had no rivals on that front. "You're not completing your duties."</p><p>"That's nonsense and you know it. I do all that you ask of me. And what this fief asks of me, and the Baron, and the Diplomatic Service, and the fucking mail, even." His teeth were grit, biting back drunken anger. At least he had maintained control. <em>Wouldn’t be a good Ranger otherwise</em>, Crowley thought gloomily. "I'm not behind on anything, Crowley."</p><p>He leaned back, glancing down at the table. "No, you're not. Not like that, at least."</p><p>Halt made a little gesture with his head, <em>Go on</em>. "If you'd like to explain, I'm waiting."</p><p>"How about you move your own brain? Think a little?" Crowley was aware his voice was rising again, but he couldn’t keep himself from it.</p><p>"I've finished enough of these to account for at least one for every year I've lived." Halt raised his cup, empty again. "What makes you think I'm capable of thinking?"</p><p>"You're capable of thinking with your skull half-bashed in, you're capable of thinking with your brain half-submerged."</p><p>Halt looked up at him, gears turning slowly in his head.</p><p>"Skull bashed in, eh. Hackham or Thorgan?" he asked, and Crowley held back a smile, deciding to let him move from the topic for a little while. <em>Options, options</em>. He hadn‘t thought about how many they had, specifically the ones where their heads were almost taken off their shoulders, specifically.</p><p>"Thorgan, I meant. They sure put a dent on you, no?“</p><p>Halt shook his head, subconsciously reaching to touch the scar on his temple, but his hand dropped back down mid-gesture.</p><p>"They did you wrong too, Crowley. It was a funny situation.“</p><p>"What part of it was funny, exactly?“ Crowley watched him, mildly amused. His very few memories from that evening were limited to blunt pain in his stomach and abdomen, and Halt holding his head up while there was blood coming out of their mouths and noses and other places blood should not be coming out of. Then he could recall a thump, weight on his stomach as Halt collapsed on him. He remembered reaching out to try and brush the black hair off his forehead, just to see how bad it was, but his hand fell before he could touch him and then all was dark for a while.</p><p>To his surprise, when he looked up, Halt had a similarly amused expression, eyes having gone a little clearer.</p><p>“It was the second time I didn’t feel right after we separated.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>Halt looked down, and, barely audible, reminded, “When we first met, and we went our own ways after the road split. And I just-- I felt like I’d wronged you some way. It was strange, but I wasn’t too keen on Gallica anyway, so I decided to go back, and there you were, redder than the hair on your head. Gave me a scare.”</p><p>“I thought you just heard me!” Crowley didn’t realize he was smiling until it reflected in his voice. “What are you, a seer?”</p><p>Halt closed his eyes, and Crowley raised an eyebrow - he looked embarrassed.</p><p>“Either way, I’m rather glad we don’t see that awful face around anymore.”</p><p>“What, were you scared of him?” Crowley asked, only slight mockery hidden in his voice. Halt snorted into his sleeve.</p><p>“Of course not, what was there to be scared of? A mountain of a man with questionable morals walking menacingly toward me while holding a bloody club? While I’ve no more weapons and my leg is snapped so high up it could probably talk to me? Why, now that’s no reason whatsoever.”</p><p>Crowley smiled, watching his friend’s eyes roll back into his skull with his first words.</p><p>“No, no, that’s not what you saw first,” he argued.</p><p>“Yeah. I saw you first.” He looked a little gloomy again, staring back at Crowley with blank eyes.  “Still haven’t drunk enough to forget about that. Don’t get me wrong, but I can’t say seeing my best friend in a considerably-sized puddle of his own blood wasn’t startling in the slightest."</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley hummed, “I’m your best friend?”</p><p>Halt visibly regretted ever saying anything. “Pushing it, Crowley.”</p><p>Crowley raised his hands in peace, smiling wider. “Alright, alright. So you’re in front of a battle, I’m probably dead, what are you thinking?”</p><p>“Why are you interrogating me?” Halt questioned, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not helping me be less drunk.”</p><p>“I just want to know what you usually think in some situations and you’d never tell me when you’re sober,” Crowley answered cheerfully. Halt gave a sigh.</p><p>“There’s a reason,” he pointed out.</p><p>“There are always reasons. But, Thorgan, you know, the clearing-- What was in your head, exactly?”</p><p>Halt looked up at him, pressing his lips into a fine line. “Some variations of screaming. Different pitch every couple of seconds.”</p><p>Crowley snorted. “Didn’t look like it. I might not swear to the gods of war, but, well, I could’ve sworn to you as one.”</p><p>“I wasn’t exactly fond of the bastards’ attempts at a greeting,” he said and squinted at Crowley. “Or yours to hold them back.”</p><p>Crowley shrugged. “Did my best.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt that.”</p><p>“Then don’t purse your lips at me just because your knives were sharper, Hibernian.” He shrugged half-heartedly, then reached out slowly to take Halt’s glass away from him, again. Halt glared daggers, but didn’t protest. “We just had it shitty back then, I suppose.”</p><p>“It isn't like we didn't have it shitty in that damn heath, either," Halt echoed.</p><p>"No, definitely not." As he agreed, Halt subconsciously tapped his fingers on the table, eyeing the glass.</p><p>"Yeah. Men died."</p><p>"Men died in the ordeal with Thorgan too," Crowley reminded, but Halt shook his head lightly.</p><p>"Not good men. We've no guilt over petty murderers."</p><p>"I don't have guilt over Hackham, either," Crowley let on his half-truth, hoping Halt would follow, but he was oddly frozen in place and Crowley understood.</p><p>"...Yeah." It was an uncertain agreement, and most definitely disingenuous.</p><p>"You shouldn't, either."</p><p>Halt raised his head, looking straight at him, probably breaking records for how genuinely pained a drunk person’s expression could be.</p><p>"Shouldn’t I?" His voice was barely audible. Even Crowley’s sigh was louder.</p><p>"So it <em>is</em> about Hackham, then. You're drinking because of something that happened years ago."</p><p>"Four years ago."</p><p><em>Seems like so long ago, though</em>, Crowley wanted to say. But Halt, it turned out, didn’t think so.</p><p>"You couldn't have stopped it," Crowley said.</p><p>"I could've been better." He reached out, half-blindly, and grabbed the glass in Crowley’s hands.</p><p>"And so could've all of us, but nobody's perfect."</p><p>"And people die because of it." He tried to pull it back, but Crowley kept it to his chest.</p><p>"Yes." Carefully, he pried Halt’s hand away and glared at him until he sat back down. "Yes, people die, but it's because of their beliefs, not you."</p><p>"No, not me. But I could've prevented it." Halt settled, finally, looking somewhere away again, blankly.</p><p>"Okay, we're getting nowhere with this." Crowley pushed himself away from the table, and, unceremoniously, poured what remained of the drink from the other glass onto the floorboards. He didn’t react to the barmaid’s outraged gasp somewhere in the room. sThey’d seen worse, anyway. "You're thinking that man up again, yeah? Him and his wife. I thought you settled with it."</p><p>Halt scoffed. "Yeah. I thought so as well. Apparently some things go away, and others you gotta force away."</p><p>"You were - what, twenty? Less? You were supposed to be an apprentice. I was barely out of apprenticeship. Only half-deserved that leaf I carried. Duncan," he leaned closer, mindful of the tens of ears around them. "Duncan was merely more than a boy. Up until today I still can't believe we got out alive, and such a number of us."</p><p>"The man—" Halt started, but Crowley simply went and covered his mouth with a hand.</p><p>"Can you shut up? Shut up for one second?" When Halt finished eyeing him mercilessly, he drew back and put the now-empty glass back onto the table. "Thank you. Now listen here - nothing you can do about it now. Nothing, yeah? You couldn't do anything then, either. It was his choice. Sure, you may think it was stupid. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was the stupidest thing to do in that regard, but I'm sure as hell glad he did it, because you definitely wouldn't be sitting here if he was smarter."</p><p>Inconsolable, Halt sighed. "He'd be sitting somewhere else, then. Probably with his wife."</p><p>Crowley reached out again, this time grabbing an unresisting Halt by the arms and pulling him forward, desperate to have him listen, <em>understand</em>. "It was a fucking <em>butchery</em>, Hackham. It was. There were no guarantees he would've survived it even if he didn't throw himself in front of you. But you did survive it, and it's because of him, so be glad for once instead of drinking because you regret a choice that wasn't even yours to make."</p><p>Silence slowly settled between the two of them, filled with the nightly buzz of the pub. Halt pressed his lips together and, just barely, shrugged his shoulders.</p><p>"It's not because of him. I can somewhat live with that now. I s’pose."</p><p>Crowley let him go, watching him pick up the glass he’d put down and hide behind it.</p><p><em>God, he's testing me. Please stop me from actually bashing his head in. Wouldn't wanna undo a good deed</em>. "What is it about, then?"</p><p>Now, his pupils distorted from behind the thick glass, some kind of awareness seemed to settle within Halt.</p><p>"The kid."</p><p>He blinked.</p><p>"What kid?"</p><p>"Daniel's kid. Will."</p><p>Crowley remembered. Halt’s letters, mostly, and once – an unruly toddler when he was riding past Redmont.</p><p>"Oh. The kid you put in the Ward after...?"</p><p>Growing irritated, Halt took a breath. "How many kids have I put in wards, Crowley?"</p><p>"Fine, fine, I get it. Will. Daniel's Will, and that woman's you made a grave for? The man and the wife we just talked about." Grimly, he gave a nod. Crowley sighed. "So now you're drinking because of a four-year-old? What on Earth even happened to him?"</p><p>"Nothing happened to him."</p><p>Crowley was this close to just putting his head in his hands and giving up, now. "Then why the hell are you here?"</p><p>"If you stopped yelling at me, I'd tell you."</p><p>"I'm not yelling at you, Halt." He raised his eyes, Halt giving him a little helpless expression.</p><p>"Then I must be drunk."</p><p>Crowley snorted, avoiding the accusing glare. "Yes, I would say so."</p><p>"Upsetting. Being drunk alone."</p><p>He shrugged, and Halt squinted at him, the same sharp sparkle in his eye.</p><p>"As I was saying, Daniel's kid. Will. I don't know. Four years since Hackham Heath, and I just... I don't know."</p><p>"How is he?" Crowley rested his head on his hands, genuinely curious. It was strange to think of Halt as sentimental, to a degree, though he knew him not to be as emotionless as he pretended to be.</p><p>"Fine, from what I can tell. I'm not following him around, believe it or not." Halt put his hand where the glass had been, finding himself a little disappointed at the lack of alcohol in his hand, and Crowley smiled.</p><p>"Didn't think you would. <em>I</em> would be terrified to be followed around by your drunk shadow."</p><p>"Sod off. Go to hell, Meratyn."</p><p>"Drag me down if you reach that high, my friend." Before Halt could actually reach for him – and he was about to, Crowley could tell – he added, "But I still don't understand why you're here trying to drown yourself."</p><p>Halt let out a dry, throaty chuckle. "Yeah, tough luck, because I don't understand it either. I just ended up here and that was about it. Saw the kid, tripping around - nearly strangled himself with my cloak, ran away like I was the plague - and I thought I wasn't gonna sleep back home. No way I was sleeping back home tonight."</p><p>Although Crowley quirked up at the mention of home - it felt nice, just hearing Halt settle - but, in some part of his mind, he understood what Halt meant. He wasn't right just before the days of Hackham Heath, too. Halt with his split skull and a body to bury must've not had it any better.</p><p>"So I came here, and that's it."</p><p>"Well, somewhere in there was also the favourable decision for a bucket of alcohol," Crowley stung. Halt snorted, pushing his empty glass back and forth again.</p><p>"You don't sit in a pub and not drink, Crowley, unless you have drunk company there," he taught. Well, drunk company was definitely there, Crowley thought.</p><p>"That kid, why's he getting on your nerves so much?"</p><p>"Can't tell."</p><p>"Yes, you can."</p><p>"As if I don't know what you're gonna say."</p><p>"Oh, if you're pulling out the drunk know-it-all, I'm leaving."</p><p>Halt snorted and collapsed on top of his arms again, burying his face in his elbow. Crowley had to lean in inches away to hear him.</p><p>"Fine. You ever felt like you needed to be perfect?"</p><p>"I-?" Crowley furrowed his brows in confusion. Did he mishear? "What kinda question is that?"</p><p>"An honest one, Crowley, so do humor me."</p><p>"Perfect? No one's perfect, Halt."</p><p>The black hair stood on end, offended.</p><p>"That wasn't what I was asking," said the vaguely-human shaped blob on the table that used to be Halt a few seconds ago.</p><p>"Well, yes, I suppose, I do strive for perfection? Don't we all?"</p><p>"That's still not my question. I understand that you want to be perfect, but have you ever <em>needed</em> to be? You ever felt like one slightest misstep and you‘re done? You‘re done and it‘d all be because of a single flaw on your part. It doesn‘t even have to be your fault, it‘s just your <em>flaw</em>."</p><p>"I-... Hackham Heath, then. I suppose. No mistakes could be made, if you're asking that.” Crowley scratched at the back of his head, gesturing toward him. “Hey, you had to be precise there, too."</p><p>Halt shook his head. “Not quite, many things could've gone wrong, but you would've found a way out because that's what you do. And I admire that."</p><p>Crowley, failing to register the praise, sank back into his seat.</p><p>"Then I still don't understand what you want from me."</p><p>"I told you first thing today, I want nothing from you."</p><p>"You wouldn't be talking."</p><p>Long silence followed. Frustrated, Crowley leaned forward, trying to find his eyes, glassy and gloomy, under the bush of uneven hair. "Come on, Halt. You're not a stranger to me, you're my Ranger - and you're my friend. I know you can keep quiet, and I know you want to keep quiet for far longer than you can. You wouldn't be talking if you didn't have things you really needed to say."</p><p>Halt made another pause before, slowly, starting:</p><p>"Hackham Heath, right? A hard time. You didn't do all that well, after it."</p><p>Crowley barely shrugged. There was no hiding it. After his watch, he'd fall asleep and Halt would be shaking him awake after what seemed like moments, telling him he nearly rolled himself into the campfire or a rock he was sleeping by. Sometimes, Crowley would tell him about what he dreamed up. Dead by him would lie all people he knew - his own family, Halt, David, the King sometimes, even. And it'd be his fault. He could've done more.</p><p>Halt wasn't better off. But Crowley hadn't seen him jolt awake since they parted into their fiefs, not even during the Gatherings. Granted, it was harder to wake him up now. He never talked about it, either.</p><p>"You weren't very pleasant afterwards, either," Crowley reminded, and Halt managed a chuckle.</p><p>"It was fine. Better than you, anyway."</p><p>"We can debate."</p><p>"Do refrain. I wasn't directly responsible for any deaths."</p><p>Crowley leaned back on his chair.</p><p>"So that's what this is about?" He asked, a twisted sting of amusement in his voice. "It's about that woman. Will's mother. After Hackham Heath."</p><p>"When you boil everything down to it, I suppose."</p><p>"Halt, in all the meanings of the word and for the hundredth time, it wasn't your fault."</p><p>"One misstep. I took one. And one was enough to fuck everything up. One, Crowley."</p><p>"And it's not-"</p><p>"Oh, it is. This kid has no parents because both of them paid for my screw-ups. They didn't need to, but they did. They wouldn't have, if I hadn't built them a bloody guillotine. If I hadn't made two mistakes, two people would be alive today, raising their goddamn child like they were supposed to."</p><p>Crowley took a breath. Halt tilted his head, but he had already stared speaking.</p><p>"Halt, I came here unaware that you were a complete and utter moron, but my knowledge has been considerably expanded today. New horizons have opened up for me. I knew you had a tendency to be a bit of an imbecile, but this is absolutely groundbreaking. Outstanding. I never thought..."</p><p>"Your point, Crowley."</p><p>"They're dead. That's it. That's <em>it</em>. There's nothing you can do about it anymore. I know you hate not being able to do something, but there are times you have to let it go because they are actually, irreversibly, completely dead."</p><p>"Yes, and it's—"</p><p>"It's not because of anything. It's happened, it's over, that’s it. Drinking isn't gonna help it. In fact, drinking can only make it worse."</p><p>"Oh, elaborate." He struggled through the last word. Crowley sighed.</p><p>"Stop forcing yourself to think about it, god's sake. Do something else. You aren't gonna save everyone, mate, I know you know that."</p><p>"I know. And yet, here we are. Saving everyone but the ones that actually deserve it."</p><p>"Don't put a purposeless tag on your work, Halt. Purposeless would be drinking when you could be sleeping. And purposeless would be lying under five blankets with a head-splitting hangover instead of getting up like a civilized person."</p><p>Halt gave a weird expression that could’ve turned into one of his pitiful hints of a smile, had he been more sober. "Thanks."</p><p>"You're welcome.” Crowley stood, pushing the chair back. “Let's go."</p><p>Halt nodded serenely, then blinked. "Wait- Wait, where?"</p><p>"To your goddamn cabin. You really think you can walk by yourself?"</p><p>He snorted. "I told you, I could try."</p><p>"I'd prefer you didn't. Come on."</p><p>Crowley stepped up to take him by the arm – Halt muttered something most definitely ungrateful back, but he didn’t really listen, busy trying not to look too much like he was half-dragging a drunk Ranger out of a tavern. He sort of succeeded in making it look like Halt could, theoretically, walk on his own and was only holding on for socially acceptable purposes of affection, but Halt really wasn’t, or at least that wasn’t the main reason.</p><p>They made it half-way through the room, mostly inconspicuous.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up,” Halt muttered.</p><p>“You most certainly are not,” Crowley informed him, cheerfully. “Or at least if you don’t want me accidentally dropping you into a puddle of mud outside, you’re not.”</p><p>“Inspirational, but less for the stomach than for the brain.” As they finally made their way through the door, Crowley wrapped an arm around Halt’s waist as the latter’s legs pretty much gave out. “You can’t just order me to... Not be drunk.”</p><p>“Yep, that’s what I’m doing. Stop it, Halt.” He looked around for a moment. “Where’d you put Abelard? I didn’t see him in the stable.”</p><p>“Oh, he’s over there somewhere.” Halt gestured vaguely. Crowley turned to him in overdramatic disgust.</p><p>“You are vile,” he said, dragging him along to the stable. “The most horrendous of—oh, no, there he is, further back.”</p><p>Abelard looked like a very disappointed father. Crowley had no idea how he read that off the ordinary-looking horse, but he could tell he was rather adamant on ripping Halt a new one, albeit only verbal.</p><p>Halt made a shapeless noise of frustration at the both of them.</p><p>“If I’m here to screw myself over, doesn’t mean I’m enough of a prick to screw my horse over with me,” he said dryly, glancing to Abelard and meeting his match. “Oh, shut up, I don’t care.”</p><p>“You don’t have to answer him out loud, you know.”</p><p>“Thank you, he gladly informed me of that as well,” Halt hissed, which – all in all, it was pretty funny, considering if Crowley stepped half a foot to the right, Halt would topple to the ground.</p><p>“I reckon you can hardly ride like this,” Crowley said. Halt made a half-hearted effort to push him away, to no avail.</p><p>“I’ve been worse,” he said, holding onto Abelard’s saddle for balance. Crowley stepped back, shrugging. The horse was twitching a little, most likely excited to no end to torment Halt with this for the rest of his days.</p><p>By some miracle, both Crowley and Halt managed to ride out. Granted, Halt almost fell off twice – once before Abelard had even moved, and Crowley found himself stumbling over the <em>amazing</em> options of future blackmail. He wondered for a moment if his thoughts were a little too cruel. He concluded that they were not, and that Halt would pull exactly the same garbage in his place, and, for the record, he absolutely would.</p><p>The road to the cabin was just as rocky, Cropper nearly pressed to Abelard’s side so Crowley could keep Halt on his damn saddle; he could tell Halt was receiving the lecture of a lifetime from Abelard, it was only unclear whether he was taking it in stride or arguing in his head. Either way, after about half an hour (it used to take far less when the both of them were sober), they started nearing the cabin.</p><p>“I won’t stay to fix your mess,” Crowley warned. “I’ve got a delegation to greet.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Halt muttered. Crowley just wasn’t sure whether it was meant for him or Abelard. Either way, he took it as Halt understanding, and leapt off his saddle by the cabin.</p><p>Unceremoniously, Halt rolled off his horse by his side.</p><p>“He is beauty, he is grace,” Crowley remarked. Halt looked positively murderous for a moment before deciding that Crowley wasn’t worth it, and staggering to the door. Crowley followed, glancing over his shoulder at the horses as he went.</p><p><em>I’ll stay in the stable</em>, Cropper told him. <em>With Abelard.</em></p><p>“No need,” Crowley assured quietly. “I’ll be out in a bit.”</p><p>Cropper looked him up and down with clever eyes and blinked. <em>No, you won’t</em>, he stated affectionately. <em>You’re a bit stupid about him, you see.</em></p><p>Crowley rolled his eyes. “Give me a few minutes.”</p><p>
  <em>Or an apple, if you turn out to be wrong?</em>
</p><p>He pretended to not have heard that.</p><p>Once he turned back, Halt had already collapsed into one of the chairs and was staring up at the ceiling as if he expected something to fall from the sky. Crowley closed the door behind him and followed, sitting down and leaning on the table.</p><p>“For someone that kicked against the idea so hard, you sure look sleepy,” he told Halt with an innocent smile, who only glared at him.</p><p>“I said I wasn’t gonna sleep,” Halt said, and Crowley gave him a thin smile.</p><p>“And I said you were,” he replied. “I wouldn’t say I’m giving you a choice here.”</p><p>Halt muttered something Crowley was sure wasn’t exactly the most pleasant niceties, but settled back into the chair. Crowley leaned to the side in his, eyeing the counters.</p><p>“Coffee?” he inquired, confused. He used to keep it on the very countertop, view unobstructed.</p><p>“Moved it,” Halt answered, gesturing to the corner. “Behind the honey. Knock yourself out.”</p><p>“I’m good.” He was most definitely not good, but he wasn’t going to drink with Halt awake, because Halt had an uncanny ability to steal whatever was on the table, and coffee and alcohol hardly mixed well. “Just worried – what if the honey gets through to the coffee? Imagine ruining a whole good bag.”</p><p>Halt threw his head back, dragging out a groan.</p><p>“I am far,” he said, “<em>far</em> too drunk to argue about coffee choices and superiority right now.”</p><p>“We needn’t argue.” Crowley shrugged. “We both know I’m right.”</p><p>“You lie to yourself the best, surely,” Halt agreed. “No idea why you’d deprive yourself of a good—see, see what you’re doing. We’re gonna argue.”</p><p>“We’re not going to argue,” Crowley relented. “And you’re going to sleep.”</p><p>“You’re a jerk,” Halt informed him.</p><p>“Yeah. Caring about you makes me a jerk.”</p><p>“Jerk.”</p><p>“Okay,” Crowley said, making an effort to be a little quieter, watching as Halt’s glare turned blank and eventually went from nailing him down to his chair to floating somewhere vaguely behind him. “Okay,” he muttered, settling back in the chair, promising himself it’d just be a minute to make sure Halt is asleep (his body was limp and breaths even, there was no need) and then he’d be on his way (as though his own mind was turning against him) and that the sight of Halt’s chest falling and rising calmly didn’t immediately make him feel a little more tired (at that point he had mastered the skill of lying to himself; Halt was right).</p><p>The minute turned to two, that to ten, twenty, half an hour. He gradually stopped distinguishing the warm smell of Halt’s cabin from the air outside, and his own eyes started wandering around. Somewhere in the back of his head he recalled he was to make coffee, but his legs felt heavy and the whim died down.</p><p>Technically, he still had some days to spend, even if he would’ve made it to the port without stopping to see Halt. He originally planned to stomp around Seacliff for a while – Bartell had been sending reports with increasing amounts of frustration evident underneath the ink, and Crowley was quite willing to finally stretch his legs outside of Araluen. It got a bit overwhelming, at times, not that he complained all that much.</p><p>But one night wouldn’t kill anyone. At least Crowley hoped it wouldn’t.</p><p>Outside, by the fence, with a special sort of smug aura horses could conjure up due to the fact that they couldn’t really strike an appropriate facial expression, Cropper turned to Abelard. <em>I told you so.</em></p><p>When the sunlight started pooling by the windows, it saw a quiet room and two occupied chairs. It was rare to see two Rangers in one spot, much less two sleeping Rangers. And the two were very much asleep, facing each other and seeing none of it, stiff bodies in stiff chairs, possibly dreaming – probably not. It was common (and very much false) knowledge that Rangers didn’t dream. Some believed they didn’t even sleep, which, well, which was also incorrect, and when faced with such a serene scene, the aforementioned incorrect persons would probably claim things from witchcraft to an illusion.</p><p>None of it mattered to them, not really, even as they were roused by the light. One of them was, at least. The other awoke after the sound of a dry groan of the other who was trying to cover his eyes from the sunlight reached him.</p><p>In hindsight, maybe they really should’ve had settled somewhere the sun wouldn’t be staring them straight in the faces just after dawn, but, to be quite honest, neither of them would’ve really remembered to account for it. Now, as one stretched, yawning, the other stayed ghastly still, staring straight ahead with a hand over his head and a genuine wish for the sweet, sweet release of death in the black eyes.</p><p>Crowley leaned forward ever-so-slightly, looking stupidly smug.</p><p>“How are you doing?” he asked, feigning innocence.</p><p>“Nghkhh,” Halt answered. Crowley nodded pleasantly, having expected a similar response.</p><p>“Coffee?” he offered, feeling merciful.</p><p>“M’ gonna die,” Halt informed him, and Crowley stood up.</p><p>“Coffee it is, then.”</p><p>He passed the counters, drawing out two cups – he wouldn’t deprive himself of one, either. The first cup he found on the table, just like that. Halt’s cup - a favourite, most likely, with marks on the bottom and a fixed handle. The other he plucked out from a cupboard, paying it no mind. Trying to hold back glee, he left out the honey on purpose, pushing it back a little, in fact.</p><p>As he turned back around, Halt was standing – or attempting to stand, anyway.</p><p>“Maybe you should refrain,” Crowley suggested, and Halt raised an eyebrow, though more at himself than at Crowley.</p><p>“You’re absolutely correct,” he said, making no effort to look like he wasn’t about to drop dead. “But I don’t really feel like cleaning the floorboards today.”</p><p>Crowley chuckled, which came off as a little cruel judging by the glare he received, and gestured toward the door.</p><p>“Try and don’t die,” he wished. Halt muttered something undoubtedly snarky in response before disappearing outside. Crowley shook his head, pouring the coffee – and a glass of water.</p><p>The bitterness the coffee left on Crowley’s tongue still tasted far sweeter than what Halt’s expression looked like when he came back inside, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Nonchalantly, Crowley commented, “That poor forest floor.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Halt groaned, collapsing back into the chair. “Give me the coffee. Please.”</p><p>“Since you’re so nice about it,” Crowley said, handing him the water. Halt eyed the glass for a moment.</p><p>“I will give my life to see everything you love shrivel up and burn.”</p><p>“Okay, Morgarath.” Crowley shrugged, gesturing toward the glass. “Just drink it. You can thank me later. Or burn me, or whatever.”</p><p>After visibly contemplating life for a few good seconds, Halt sighed and downed the water, putting the glass back onto the table with a slight quiver of his hand. “I hope you’re aware I’m gonna throw it back up in a minute or two,” he muttered. Crowley tilted his head with little sympathy.</p><p>“Shouldn’t have drunk that much, I told you.”</p><p>“Okay. Give me the coffee.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’ll throw up the water, but not the coffee?”</p><p>“Yes, through sheer power of will,” Halt said, through grit teeth. “The same power that’s preventing me from strangling you at this very moment in hopes that you hand me the damn cup before I lose my mind.”</p><p>Crowley gave a high chuckle and finally handed the crooked cup over to Halt, who muttered a half-assed thanks before leaning back in the chair, absolutely and utterly wrecked. Crowley, on the other hand, finished his coffee and, after going for a refill, slid off the counter where he’d settled before, back into the chair.</p><p>It was silent for a bit – when he turned his head, Halt was looking at his coffee like it was a crystal ball, somewhere far away. He’d drunk a little bit and stopped, frozen, staring at the liquid that he swirled in the cup from time to time, just for the show.</p><p>“Hey,” Crowley said, quietly. “You alright?”</p><p>He’d snapped Halt out of it, from the way he nearly flinched at his voice. “Besides the fact that I feel like I’ve been trampled by an army of warhorses, yeah, don’t worry about me.”</p><p>“Halt,” Crowley laughed, and he shrugged.</p><p>“I feel like I talked about a bunch of nonsense yesterday and I can’t remember half of it,” he confessed, finally taking another swig of the coffee. Crowley pressed his lips together. “You know, the distant feeling of morbid embarrassment and you don’t even know what you did.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t say it was all nonsense,” he said, not exactly comforting but truthful at the very least. “Just, things you wouldn’t usually say, I think.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Halt put his cup on the table, unfinished. “Like what?”</p><p>“Oh, just...” His mind strung a half-truth together rather quickly. “Thorgan, Hackham Heath. All that.”</p><p>Evidently, it wasn’t enough for Halt, but he didn’t seem to really want to know more. “Forget about all of it.”</p><p>“Well, they do say alcohol brings out honesty in people.”</p><p>“All it brings out is crudeness, stupidity and self-pity,” Halt retorted.</p><p>“Ha. You fought against the last one pretty hard,” Crowley remembered, a sly smile spreading across his face.</p><p>“Just shut up, please.” Halt brushed some hair off his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to know.”</p><p>“Fine, fine.” Crowley shrugged. “After all, you probably would’ve gone on and on if I hadn’t dragged you out by the ear.”</p><p>Halt nodded absently, in thought, so Crowley took the time to stand up and walk to the window. Cropper had gone into the stables with Abelard, and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief at the horse’s apparent comfort. He knew, however, there was a speech coming the next time he mounted Cropper, beginning and ending with approximately the same smug “I told you so”.</p><p>“Crowley?” Halt called quietly from behind him.</p><p>Crowley glanced over his shoulder. “Mm?”</p><p>“Thank you.” Halt stared down at the cup in his hands, a tad disapproving. “Not for the coffee, though. You knew where the honey was.”</p><p>Crowley smiled. “Next time you can get it yourself.”</p><p>“Whatever,” Halt muttered, immediately offended at the lack of positive response.</p><p>Crowley turned his head back to the window, concealing a larger grin. It was a beautiful morning – not that it was surprising, of course. The nastiest of nights usually brought the most delightful of mornings.</p><p>This was one for sure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!! consider a comment to tell me how i did? :&gt;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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